Walking the Dog
by Squidgal
Summary: Max goes on vacation, leaving Thorn in the care of the Lost Boys.
1. Canis infernalis, cave canem

**Disclaimer:** The Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros. I'm just having a bit o' fun with the characters.

**Author's Notes to the Gentle Reader:** _The idea for this little story came from a conversation I had the night before about taking care of a friend's dog for the summer. Any mistakes and omissions are entirely my own. Constructive criticism is always welcomed. _

_This story takes place long before the recruitment of Laddie and Star. Enjoy the romp! _

**Remember, it's not Hellhound, it's "Hello, hound!"**

It all began like any other night. The amusement park was busy with tourists in all their gaudy finery; the Boardwalk teemed with strolling couples, street performers, and hungry families searching for that nice, but cheap restaurant. As for me, I was looking forward to a lovely twilight walk along the beach before returning to my usual place behind the counter at the video store. It was easy to forget about all the bad things that could happen if one had been well groomed and his toenails trimmed; I was one lucky Hound of Hell, living in the Murder Capital of the World, and everything was going so well on that lovely summer night. I should have known nothing good ever happens whenever David and his crew show up.

I could have blamed Max for the nights that followed, but who am I to complain; he feeds me, houses me, and takes me out for walks when he has the night off. Most of the time, he lets me wander in the evenings. For my part, I work during the day, watch over Max while he sleeps the sleep of the undead, and guard his home from curious neighbors, determined Girl Scouts, and the infrequent religion pushers with their pamphlets. Between you and me, it may sound like a boring life, a typical dog's life you might say, yet it does have its perks.

Other than being Homicide Central, Santa Carla was actually a lovely place. I spent my free time roaming the beaches, checking out interesting female hounds, and exploring the forests of redwoods, madrones, and live oak that crowded the coastal mountain slopes. Sometimes I'd sit on the porch and watch the evening fog roll in as I breathe in the cool ocean breeze, detecting the distant odor of skunk and raccoon in the night air. Santa Carla may be a nightmare, but it was a beautiful nightmare.

**xXx**

Now I've always considered myself a good Hellhound, but there are times when I wonder what I did in a previous life to deserve my brief stint with Max's Boys. As I said before, I work during the day while my nights were spent relaxing at the video store, watching the people stroll in to rent or peruse Max's fine collection of videos, sniffing the other dogs that accompanied their owners, and growling at the Boys when they came to visit.

On that night, I knew something was afoot when the Boys came in all sullen and silent instead of swaggering in with their trademark shit-eating grins, so I did what I always did whenever they made their appearance: I growled and bared my teeth.

"Oh good, you're right on time!" Max was leaning over the counter, tallying the day's profits and cashing out the till. I've never seen Max so cheerful, except that time when he sicced me on an annoying mime.

"Are you sure about this? We have a reputation to keep, you know." The spiky blonde, David, spoke first. Judging from his menacing looks alone, he would have made an excellent interrogator for a late night torture session complete with music videos.

I could also smell the underlying metallic scent of fresh blood and carrion on him. The rest of the Boys had that same scent in varying intensity, but what was most interesting were the other scents that mingled with the blood scent of their victims. Spiky blonde liked his cigarettes, and that pungent tobacco often preceded his appearance. "Listen to me, Max: We're vampires, not dog sitters!"

"Technically, Thorn is a Hound of Hell, so you'll be hellhoundsitting," said Max. "We've talked this over, David. There's nobody else, and the pet hotel has refused to let Thorn stay ever since the incident with the Chihuahua. I think there's a restraining order or something floating around."

Max always understood my idiosyncrasies. Very small dogs annoy me, especially the noisy ones. But dog sitting? This was something new.

"This is only for a short time. Before you know it, I'll be back from my vacation and everything will be back to normal." When Max said vacation, I felt my stomach drop. Oh no, please don't leave me with these bloodsuckers.

"Is he housebroken?" This came from the shortest of the Boys. His curly blonde hair and innocent, wide-eyed look was all a ruse to get his victims to trust him, and that grin he wore made my hackles rise every time he sauntered into the store. He was the only one I could never trust completely. Perhaps it was the chaps he wore over his jeans or the scent of food on him, especially the stench of cotton candy and candied apples. I can only assume the gang was using him as the delivery boy for their infamous initiation dinners, but the hint of cotton candy and candied apples spoke of darker things.

"Of course he's housebroken, Marko!" snapped Max. "Now I'm going to leave instructions for all of you. My house is off limits, especially to you, Paul. The video store will be closed during the night, and if there's an emergency, don't call me. It would be better if all of you just hid and waited until I get back."

"Can't we hang out in your yard during the night?" All eyes shifted towards Paul, the tall blonde in the frock coat and tight pants, and the wildest of the bunch when it came to partying. I swear an odorous cloud of pot and beer seems to follow him everywhere. If ever there was a lost soul who desired to dress me in all manner of pet clothing and shit, Paul would be the one. I made sure to keep an eye on him.

"No, you may not, Paul. What? The cave's not enough for you? I told you boys before: keep a low profile. Follow Dwayne's example; you guys can learn a lot from what he's not saying."

Now Dwayne was a piece of work. I thought he was mute when Max first introduced me to him. Silent and dangerous, he was the only dark-haired one of the bunch and the one most likely to pass for a werewolf with his hair and wolfish good looks. I can always smell the lingering floral fragrance of his last female victim on him, plus an elusive animal scent. Now that was something I couldn't wrap my head around, and it made me curious to know what else Dwayne did while out hunting. His quiet demeanor also gave me the creeps; I'm sure that guy could out-silence the dead. Max confided once that he only heard him say about twenty words throughout the years he's known him, and the majority of those words consisted of 'you' and 'suck.' He was truly a man of few words, our Dwayne.

I must admit though that among the four of them, Dwayne's name was the silliest. If I had a pet of my own, I'd be a cruel son of a bitch to name it Dwayne.

"I bet he's not fixed. Anybody know of any veterinarians in the area?" muttered one of the Boys.

"Who said that?" Max was furious as he looked around, trying to figure out which one of his Boys uttered the f-word. "No one is going to take Thorn to the veterinarian to have him neutered while I'm away."

The Boys were finding it difficult to contain their laughter while Max could only fume and glare, but I knew who uttered the f-word. Silent Dwayne wasn't so silent after all. What a bastard.


	2. Blood and Cigarettes

The Boys didn't throw a bon voyage party for Max. Instead, Max took me to the cliff, above the cave the boys called home. We were met by the three Musketeers: Dwayne, Paul, and Marko. David was nowhere to be seen. I guess it was beneath him to meet the pet he and his gang will be taking care of; Max just shook his head when he was only met by the three Boys. To them, he handed over the box of dry and canned dog food, assorted toys, water and food dishes, plus an envelope of money just in case I ran out of food. It was also more than enough to cover any expenses if I ran into a car, or vice versa. Hopefully, it wouldn't involve any neutering and veterinarians (_I'm planning on meeting a nice female hellhound and having a future litter or two of hellpuppies, thank you very much!_) The exchange was over and done with when the last items were handed over.

With a low whistle, he called me over, and as I trotted towards him, I was struck by how utterly weird this must be: the whole thing looked and felt surreal. You'd feel the same way too if you were handed over to three dubious characters on the edge of a cliff with the full moon shining down on everything like a grinning death's head.

The three vampires looked blandly at me while Max talked about feeding schedules and walking. It seems I'll be having free reign over my own activities during the day, but it was limited to the cave and the rickety stairs that led up to the cliff. The nights were going to be a different matter; I'll have to wait for the Boys to discuss this part of the schedule.

"And please, no chocolate for Thorn. Make sure to give him a bath after you boys take him out during your feeding runs. There's nothing more awful than waking up and smelling the previous night's victim's blood and junk all over your pet when sunset rolls around," instructed Max as he placed one nearly forgotten squeaky toy atop the pile of stuffed animals Dwayne held in his arms; he gave the toy an inadvertent squeeze in the process. The mournful squeak that escaped the toy perfectly underscored the look of grim acceptance on the black-haired vampire's face.

It was time to say our good-byes, but the Boys were already heading down the wooden stairs. One of them was whistling what sounded like 'Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone,' but in a very mournful key. I saw Max head for his car without a backward glance. Once he got inside, he started the engine and drove away. I lingered at the cliff edge, watching the car's taillights disappear down the dirt track. Where he was going, Max didn't tell me. I guess he didn't need the protection of a Hellhound at his destination.

The night was still young, and as I made my way down the flight of stairs, I was stuck observing the back of one of the Boys before me. I could see the lazy sway of Marko's dark blonde locks as they sprouted from their nest of curls, snaking their way down the nape of his neck where they met the collar of his crazy, kaleidoscopic jacket of frayed denim and various patches. Above the whispering sound of the surf, his leather chaps scuffed, annoying me to no end. Even with my Hellhound powers, I couldn't ignore those chaps. I rolled my eyes, suppressing the urge to nip his heels, and when he finally entered the cave, I paused to look across the dark Pacific. The ocean spray was refreshing, flung from the waves that collided with the rocks and boulders near the mouth of the cave. The ocean rolled and rippled beneath the moonlight, and a light onshore breeze was blowing, ruffling my fur with its tangy scent of distant tide pools and drying kelp. It was the first and only time I wanted to bite Max.

**xXx**

I hopped down the rocky steps of the cave entrance, marveling at the sight of the transformed hotel lobby and the stone fountain in its center. Flames flickered from cast off oil drums, and candles in varying sizes were placed haphazardly on the rim of the old, dry fountain that would have greeted the long dead guests of the buried hotel. In one part of the room, someone arranged a couple of worn-out couches to form a comfortable living room, while the odd addition of a wheelchair completed the furniture set.

David lounged in the wheelchair, eyeing me balefully and smiling a small smile that seemed to curl up one side of his face and die before reaching his eyes. The whole cave reeked of blood and cigarettes. This was going to be one long night, so I sat and pretended to be a good clueless dog, lolling tongue and all. I can see my doggy bed in one corner, placed next to a nice bed surrounded by gossamer curtains and filled with soft pillows; forget the ratty dog bed, I knew where I was going to take my naps. Oddly enough, somebody arranged my toys and stuffed animals artfully among the cushions and plush pillows.

"Well, it's official. Who'll it be for tonight, Marko?" asked David.

Marko shrugged his answer and looked over at Dwayne who remained silent. David leaned forward in his chair and took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing a cloud of smoke in my direction.

"There's that chick from last night, you know, the one at the hot dog stand," Paul suggested from the defunct fountain, pacing around the rim, and bouncing to some tune only he could hear. "She was giving me the eye-"

"I wasn't talking about hunting, Paul," David growled.

"Well, what were you talking about?"

"Walking the dog, giving devil-pooch here some exercise so he could stretch his legs out, that's what I was talking about."

Devil-pooch, I actually liked that name, but I was beginning to get weary of the banter between the Boys, well, between the two of them; the silent duo of Marko and Dwayne stood in the background, listening in on the scintillating conversation. I decided to leave them alone so I could explore the cave. I wandered by that large poster of the old Lizard King himself, Jim Morrison; either one of the Boys was a big fan of the Doors or the poster was placed there to cover a gaping hole in the wall. I didn't know what else to think of the old hotel lobby; it was like a dank animal lair trying to pass for a swinging bachelor's pad and failing miserably. The small collection of surfboards in one corner intrigued me though. I guess the kids picked up a surfer or two who stayed out long after the sun had gone down. I don't think the majority of Santa Carla's surfers ever considered themselves 'dinner on the half shell' for a gang of vampires: for great white sharks, yes, but for vampires, no. Luckily, it didn't look like the Boys preyed upon the surfers often.

The carrion scent wasn't so apparent in the lobby, perhaps due to the pall of cigarette smoke in the air, but while I made my way deeper, past the curtained alcoves, and into the warren of tunnels towards the rear of the cave, the air grew colder and the smell of rancid flesh and blood dominated the last room. The ceiling of the cave in this room was lost in dark shadows, yet I could detect the gleam of metal bars high above me. A series of dilapidated ladders climbed up one side of the cave. Judging from the miasma of stale vampire breath, this must be where the Boys slept during the day, hanging upside down from the iron bars. It was a unique sleeping arrangement and quite clever of them. Coffins would have been too conspicuous in the cave, basically making them easy targets for those intrepid or stupid enough to go after them in their own hideout.

Satisfied with what I've seen of the cave, I trotted back to the main room. It seems that I had never left at all since the topic of the conversation was still about my walking schedule.

"What's the matter? Nobody wants to give old Thorn here a walk in the moonlight?" David had his gloved hands over his face, rubbing it like he didn't know what else to do with his hands other than wrapping them around the necks of the others and throttling them. Throughout the whole movement, his cigarette dangled between the first and second fingers of his right hand. "I'm not going to waste the whole night talking to myself about who's walking the dog!"

"Hey, you were having the conversation with me," Paul interjected.

"Doesn't count," said David. He had his cigarette back in his mouth, jutting at an angle. "Okay, if none of you wants to walk Thorn tonight, I'll do it, but all of you are coming with me."

"Why walk when you can fly?" added Dwayne quietly.

"I am not going to fly around Santa Carla with devil-pooch in my arms!" David's composure was beginning to crack.

"Could we at least separate once we get to the Boardwalk? I don't think I want to be nearby when you land with a big dog in your arms." Marko was smiling his sweet smile.

"No on the separation, and just for that last part, I'm thinking of getting a sidecar for your bike so Thorn could ride with you. I may be cruel, but not that cruel to drag devil-pooch around on a leash while we're riding our bikes," said David.

"No way man, no sidecar for me," stated Marko.

"Devil-pooch can ride behind me," piped in Paul.

I saw the cigarette droop and finally drop from David's mouth. "Look carefully Paul: does Thorn have any hands to hold onto you with? And don't suggest strapping him to the seat or to your back!"

The Boys began to laugh at this, and Paul was laughing the hardest. I had a feeling that I was witnessing an unseen side of the Boys, a side Max and I hardly ever saw during the brief contact we had with them at the store.

"Okay, I'll take Thorn out tonight while you guys go and do whatever the crap you do. Remember, you three owe me." David stood up, stretching this way and that. He removed the extra cigarette he kept behind his left ear and tucked it into his mouth. From within his overcoat, he took out a box of matches and shook one out. There was a brief flare when he struck the match against the box, and for a moment, his face was lit with an unholy light as he brought the match up. He cupped his hands over it to keep the little flame from being blown out by the breeze that blew in now and then from the entrance of the cave. "It's just you and me, Thorn," he said softly, shaking the match to extinguish it. He quickly bent down to retrieve something from behind one of the sofas. Whatever he picked up, he hid it from me when he stood up. As he came nearer, he leaned over me and leered, his icy blue eyes flashing malice: "How far are you willing to go, Thorn?" From his coat pocket, he brandished a leash and a spiked collar, and in the back of my mind, I knew both came from Paul (_I must explain here and now that Max never had me on a leash nor did he have me wear ugly spiked collars. I was an independent Hound of Hell, and to wear something as demeaning as one of those leather collars with the metal spikes that shrieked 'Junkyard Mutt' and a leash to lead me around like an idiot who doesn't know where he was going would be an insult to the proud and infernal line of Hellhounds_.) As for Paul having a dog leash and an atrocious collar, well, it proved once and for all that the kid's fashion sense was undeniably kinked.

**xXx**

I swallowed my pride as David replaced my usual collar with one of Paul's fashion accessories. If only I was quicker, I would have bitten him and made a run for the exit, but I wasn't quick enough. Perhaps it was the thought of Paul's disturbing fashion sense that distracted me enough to give David an advantage. Nevertheless, I now had a leather collar (with spikes!) encircling my neck. I swallowed my pride again when I heard the 'snick' of the leash being attached to the collar. I can see where this was going. The picture already forming in my mind was leaving a bad taste in my mouth. If he was going to challenge me, I had to show David who was top dog.

Adopting a meek front, I sat and waited for him while he watched the Boys leave the cave noisily, flying out in a rush of wind and whirring noises that reminded me of chattering bats or creaking bicycle wheels that haven't been oiled for a long time. They were going to where they hid their bikes, a place not too far, and from there, head onto the Boardwalk where David and I were going to meet them after our walk.

I felt a slight tug as David walked me outside the cave and towards the stairs. It was now or never. Crouching low, I gathered myself for a powerful spring. He never suspected a thing as he paused beside me, wondering briefly why I stopped at the foot of the staircase. The sound of his startled grunt was a satisfying sound to my ears as I leapt up the stairs, dragging him up the steps. I hoped he was getting a lot of damage from the large splinters that flew off the railing as he flailed along, his booted feet stumbling to keep up. My voice howled with pleasure when I got to the top, and there I went all out. I ran as if I was being chased by chanting villagers with torches and sharpened farm implements. David began howling too, but it wasn't a happy sound. I could feel him trying to dig his heels in and pull me back in a futile fight for control.

_Ha! Let's see how far _you're_ willing to go!_ I thought as I raced along the dirt track, heading for the lights of Santa Carla and beyond. The tension on the leash slackened suddenly, causing me to turn my head slightly to look back and check on David. The kid glided behind me with his great coat billowing out like some huge bat. Flying surely helped because he could now keep up with me, but the wind and the leash conspired against him by buffeting him, making him flutter erratically in the turbulence. Sometimes he was thrown down and dragged for a bit before the wind picked him back up only to be flung back down again. A sensible person, or vampire, would have dropped the leash by now, but David was too stubborn. Hell's bells, he looked more like a giant black kite, and I was the one pulling his string.

We continued our 'walk' in this manner until I became bored. By the time I started to really walk, David was a shambling mess. His spiky blonde locks were awry, the mousse or gel keeping them straight and perfect was all gone, replaced by dirt, twigs, and all manner of debris picked up during his scrapes with the dirt track. The black overcoat still billowed about him, coated now with a fine layer of dust that puffed at times when he slapped at his sleeves and chest. The t-shirt he wore was torn to shreds, plus the knees on his jeans were in tatters. An unreadable expression occupied his dirty face, an expression that looked somehow angry or mortified, yet appeared to say that he was aware of being taught a lesson, but for what he wasn't too sure of, and when did walking the dog involve so much pain and dirt? He spat out the broken cigarette that dangled from his lips and reached up to get the extra one tucked behind his left ear. The cigarette was long gone, so he reached into his coat and took out a pack. Most of the cigarettes were broken, while some just rolled out in pieces when he shook the packet. Only one escaped damage, but it was crooked. Sighing deeply, David stuck it in his mouth and lit it. He looked down at me as he took one long drag from the cigarette, his eyes shining dangerously with undisguised fury.

"This round belongs to you, Thorn, you sonuvabitch," rasped David as he exhaled a long cloud of smoke into the night air.

**xXx**

**Author's Notes:** _This chapter was inspired by the many walking misadventures I had with my own 'junkyard mutt,' and the title 'Blood and Cigarettes' was suggested by a strange dream I had involving mountaineering, highway overpasses, and zombies._

_Many thanks to the readers who have read and enjoyed this romp so far. _


	3. Death's Ice Cream Truck

**Disclaimer:** The Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros. I'm just having a bit o' fun with the characters.

**xXx**

Intimidating, that was the word; despite their garish outfits, the Boys personified it perfectly. They lounged against the railing with their motorcycles parked to one side, an island of savage calm in the sea of gangs that called Santa Carla home. In their own quiet way, they dominated the groups around them. Some vague undercurrent of violence and unease emanated from their group, causing the other gangs to avoid them on some nameless, instinctual level, like that strange feeling of being too close to something that regarded you as potential prey. Such supernatural intimidation guaranteed complete control: Santa Carla truly belonged to Max's Boys, and they knew it. However, intimidating would not have been the word to describe David's appearance when we finally arrived at the amusement park.

"Oh man, where did you guys go?" Paul was the first to see us. He was laughing at the sight that greeted him. "You walk through Hell or what?"

"Shut up, Paul!" snarled David, his crooked cigarette clenched between slowly grinding teeth.

"Don't be mad. At least we now know what we're in for when we take Thorn for his walk," Paul continued. "Did the leash hold well? How about the collar? Do you think it makes Thorn look tough and sexy?"

"I'll tell you what I think! I think I'm going to enjoy tearing your throat out!" David lunged forward with the single-minded intent to rip Paul's throat out, and it took the combined strength of Dwayne and Marko to restrain him. It was also quite comical to see Dwayne put David in a headlock with Marko trying to avoid his flailing arms and legs.

"Chill out man, don't go vamping out with everybody watching! It ain't cool." Marko had grabbed a fistful of David's hair.

If only I had an adequate larynx, I would have been giggling; instead I huffed and barked, enjoying the Boys antics. I also noticed Dwayne looking at me with a calculating gleam in his dark eyes.

"I'm alright, I'm alright!"

Dwayne quickly released his hold on the struggling vampire.

"You can let go of my hair, Marko! Damn it! I felt your nails digging into my head," David muttered while he rubbed at his scalp. Sighing with resignation, he turned away from Paul and said, "I'm going to let this go once, Paul, just this once." He was starting to calm down, smoothing the newly acquired wrinkles on his coat and removing whatever debris remained in his hair. "Any of you boys got a cigarette or something? I'm almost done with this one." Taking out the crooked cigarette, he waited for it to burn down to the filter before flicking it onto the sand. He turned around, accepting a cigarette from Paul who had been waiting quietly to tell him one last thing.

"You know you got some big nasty bug parts stuck in your teeth."

**xXx**

Now that David was calm, we all had a wonderful time observing the crowd. The night air was filled with the salt and decaying kelp smell of the beach; wafting in were the fried batter scent of funnel cakes, a whiff of cinnamon and sugar, and the sickening sweet aroma of rotting garbage. I turned my head, sniffing at the air, lapping up the odor of roasting meats, frying hamburgers, French fries, and doughnuts. The tantalizing smells made me hungry, too hungry. Max fed me earlier, but all that walking gave me an appetite. I looked up at David and whined a little bit.

"You gotta be kidding me. We just got here! Don't tell me you want to go back now," said David, "I'm not walking back with you!"

"Hey dude, chill! I'll drive you guys home," said Paul.

"With what? A magic carpet?" David was losing his patience.

"You'll see! I got friends in low places. Wait right here!" Paul ran off into the crowd.

"You two know anything about these friends in low places?" asked David.

The dynamically silent duo of Dwayne and Marko just shrugged their shoulders.

I sat down and waited, watching the crowd pass us by. There were bits of conversations my ears caught, and most of it consisted of idle talk concerning boring mundane things, but there were snatches of friends whispering to other friends about the sordid details of various individuals, laughter and screams from the rides and games, and one strange discussion that revolved around vampires, ghouls, and werewolves in the town council. Such topics shouldn't be discussed in public, especially when there were supernatural creatures lurking nearby to listen in. I looked about me, trying to find the source and seeing only a couple of boys arguing and arranging the display stand in front of a store.

Max and his Boys had an uneasy truce with the other creatures that called Santa Carla home. Who knew what kind of mayhem could stem from a discussion that sounded fantastic and ridiculous to normal people. Max would have to look into this when he returns. I caught David whispering something to Marko, who nodded and nudged Dwayne. They were intently observing a young woman dressed as if clowns stole all her decent clothing and left her with their cast-off garments that never saw the light of day or were never worn by any clown with sense. She was also a person of interest for one of the rival gangs: the so-called Surf Nazis.

This was something I've heard of from Max, but have never seen before. One of the Boys would wait, gauging their prey until they knew enough to come closer and learn more. Sometimes they attracted their prey for no reason other than their reputation and appearance. It was a subtle game of seduction for the Boys, knowing full well the fate of the victim who willingly comes along _for a ride_ with them. The Boys also ranged far to feed, falling upon individuals or other gangs who found themselves in an isolated area of Santa Carla's stretch of coastline. David was about to swagger in to attract the attention of the young woman when a weird noise stopped him in mid-swagger. The Surf Nazis stopped in mid-conversation and looked up, allowing the woman to leave. A slight disturbance near the entrance was causing a stir, and the crowd parted briefly enough for Paul to come dashing through. He was grinning like a kid who was happy that the subject of his Show-and-Tell grossed out his classmates.

"I got it! It's out in front." Paul waved towards the entrance.

"What is it?" David approached him, a wary look on his face. Any scheme of Paul's always ended in something far raunchier than expected. Even Max knew this, and he learned it the hard way.

"A car, a convertible actually; friends of mine are letting me borrow it for the night. I'll just drive back and get my bike after I drop you two off."

"A car? Since when did you get a driver's license? Wait, don't tell me: friends in low places, right?" David was beginning to catch on.

"Take a look. It didn't cost much, and the guy did a real good job." Paul handed over the fake license.

"You don't even look like the guy in the picture!"

"It's close enough," Paul said when David handed back the license. "I can get a discount next time if ever you guys want one."

"Just show us the car." There was a tiny bit of impatience in Dwayne's voice.

Whatever Paul had waiting for us, it was far weirder than expected. When he said convertible, we thought it would be a real convertible. The thing that waited for us at the curb was a hearse, double-parked and gawked at by passing visitors. It wasn't even one of those black or white stately vehicles that one sees at funerals. This one looked like somebody's experiment gone horribly wrong.

In its dingy past, someone converted it into a convertible. Only the area where the coffin would have been loaded and transported was still covered by the original roof. Yet the most disturbing thing about the car was the stuff that was on it. The entire car was decorated with countless stickers, and not just bumper stickers, but decals of forgotten brand names and stickers of various subjects, colors (very bright primary ones,) and sizes. There were layers upon layers of stickers. A few of them clumped up to form strange bulges that looked like there was something trapped beneath it all. The windshield, passenger windows, and hood ornament were left untouched by the stickers. Curiously, the hood ornament was a beautiful sculpture of a leaping hare painted to look like it was wearing a striped shirt and short pants with suspenders. The deranged individual who converted the hearse must have decorated it too.

"What do you think guys?" Paul beamed as he leaned against the hood.

"It's...it's hideous," Marko said with awe. "Your friends must be as screwed up as you, Paul, to do this."

"Nah, they told me they won this baby in a card game. They've been letting the local funeral home borrow it for special funerals, but it was free tonight. Check this out!" Paul reached inside and pressed on the steering wheel. The car's horn began playing the strange sound we heard earlier, but now we could hear it clearly enough for us to discern the music; it was 'Pop! Goes the Weasel,' but played as a slow, solemn dirge. The music didn't last long, and the brief silence that followed was broken by Marko's and Dwayne's laughter.

"I'm not riding in that! It looks and sounds like Death's Ice Cream Truck!" David stood on the curb, his grip tightening around my leash.

"Just get inside. You'll be at the cave in no time to fix your hair," suggested Dwayne as he walked away.

"See y'all later!" Marko followed, giving a slight wave and a smile.

Those two went to go hunting on their own, and I was left with the hideous hearse, Paul, and a very pissed-off David. He was muttering every obscenity under his breath as he opened the passenger door for me; I hopped in and sat in the middle while he settled into the passenger seat. Paul got behind the wheel, whistling happily.

"Turn on the radio," said David when the whistling started to grate on his nerves.

"I don't know if I can."

"Of course you can."

"How can I when there's nothing?"

"What do you mean there's nothing? Don't play your stupid games with me, Paul."

"I'm not playing any games! I'm trying to tell you the car doesn't have a radio."

**xXx**

Paul's driving wasn't as bad as I thought it would be; we didn't hit anybody or anything on the way back to the cave, but he did take the turns a bit too carelessly. The ride was spent in relative peace because Paul and David managed to shut up for the rest of the trip. We were the only vehicle on the coastal back road at that time of the night; the Boys learned a while back which roads the police mainly patrolled. These lonely, hidden roads of Santa Carla probably hid a good portion of the Boys' victims.

We finally reached the cave in one piece. Paul was drumming on the steering wheel while he waited for us to get out of the car. He was also humming another one of his nameless tunes, and with a mischievous glance in David's direction, he reached forward and flicked a switch on the dashboard. The nonexistent radio burst into static life as the local radio station played the latest loudmouth. With a raucous laugh, Paul turned the car and drove away. The last we saw of him, he was headbanging to the raucous tune.

"I'm going to wait till that idiot falls asleep, and then I'm going to punch him in the face," said David.

I followed David down the stairs and into the cave, but not before doing my business and getting him to clean up after me. He didn't look too happy about it. When it came time to feed me, I could see his patience wearing thin. Afterwards, he spent most of the time pacing, puffing on his cigarette, and waiting for the boys to come back. It wasn't long before they returned.

"Hey David, how was Thorn? Did he help you fix your hair-do?" Marko asked as he carried in a cardboard box.

Ignoring his questions, David replied, "It's about time. Now I can go feed, and you guys can watch Thorn."

The other three looked at each other, pointing at one another and whispering. Paul finally spoke up, "It seems you're a little too late, pal." He didn't sound too apologetic.

"What do you mean _a little too late_? The last time I looked, it was still dark outside." There was a slight catch in David's voice.

"That's where you're wrong, bud. I think all that walking screwed up your time schedule." Paul looked like he was enjoying David's discomfort.

Somehow, I knew where this was going, and I didn't want to be near when David was finally given the bad news, so I slowly made my way to the curtained bed.

"You're too late, and the sun's about to rise," said Dwayne. He was brief and to the point.

"Yeah," Paul agreed.

"But we got you..." Marko tried to add when he was interrupted by a fully transformed David.

"I haven't fed, and you're telling me I can't go outside because it's already too late?" His fiery yellow eyes glared as he bellowed, "Forget this; I'm going after fresh meat!"

I have no idea where or how David came up with a knife and fork, but the look of intense hunger on his face was all I needed to get me to run away from him. The Boys did their best to tackle and restrain the rampaging vampire, but not without getting a few nasty pokes from the fork. They did manage to get the knife away at the beginning. It was an unfair wrestling match, and in the end, David was finally subdued when Paul and Dwayne tied him to his chair. They quickly rolled him over to Marko who was opening the cardboard box he carried in earlier.

"How about getting some type O positive into your system?" Marko pulled out a blood transfusion bag and stabbed a straw into it. He quickly gave it to David to suck on.

"Promise to not vamp out on us again?" asked Paul as he loosened the restraints. David nodded as he continued to drink. He already had one hand free, clutching the bag and squeezing it to force the liquid into the straw and into his mouth. When the restraints were finally removed, he lit another cigarette and accepted another bag of blood, and there he sat, content with smoking his cigarette and sucking at the blood like a kid with a juice pack.

"So, who's going to walk the dog next time?" asked Marko.

"You can. I'm done, finished, out. No more walking for me," David said around a mouthful of blood.

"No, no, Paul can walk Thorn." Marko didn't look so eager.

"Hey, I have plans tonight!" cried Paul. "Why can't Dwayne take Thorn out?" He looked around for the other vampire, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Aw shit, where did he go?"

"Should we settle this in the usual way?" Marko raised an eyebrow, waiting for Paul's answer.

"Okay, but no cheating. It's rock, paper, scissors, right?"

**xXx**

**Author's Notes:** _Twisted dreams and humorous discussions concerning the different ways a vampire would snack on blood if given a choice were the inspirations for this chapter. Death's Ice Cream Truck does not exist, I think, but if ever there was such a thing, I don't think I'd want to buy a treat from it._


	4. Finding Roaches in the Pot, Pt 1

My walk with Paul was a night of epic pandemonium, and it all began with an innocent game of rock, paper, scissors played by two vampires in a cave on the coast. Such a night should have been foretold by the ancients as one of the sure signs for an imminent apocalypse, but they were shortsighted in that respect.

The minute Paul lost to Marko I knew I was in for an unpredictable night. I should have been distraught, but that wouldn't get me anywhere, especially with the company I was keeping. Marko looked very happy when he went to join the others already slumbering and Paul was subdued or as close to subdued as he could get. He was bouncing around, releasing excess energy before retiring to the rear cave to sleep the sleep of contented vampires.

"I'll be seeing you later, Thorn. Sweet dreams!"

Sweet dreams my ass.

**xXx**

Dawn crept in slowly while the morning fog rolled back over the ocean. My sleep was dreamless. I would have welcomed a nightmare though, but the new day was beckoning. I stretched and walked to the entrance, enjoying the breeze that blew in. The tide was going out, leaving the tidal pools to dry and its denizens waiting for the next respite from the cruel heat of the sun. The rocks and pebbles scrunched beneath my paws; the sound they made was a delicious crackle that caused my ears to perk.

Sunny Santa Carla glistened in the sunlight like the dog shit left on an emerald lawn, bejeweled by the morning dew. I decided it was time to explore daytime Santa Carla on my own, and after spending most of my days cooped up in Max's yard, it would be a new and different experience. Max wasn't here to say no, and the Boys could care less about where I went during the day if they didn't find out. All I had to do was avoid the local pound and its agent of menace, the animal control officer.

No wonder the Boys flew into Santa Carla. It was quite a long walk from the cave, and by the time I reached the outskirts of town, it was nearing midmorning. I wasn't tired at all though, since it was that kind of day when the strange and eccentric denizens that lurked in the nooks and crannies of this coastal town came out to check each other out, and being one of those same denizens, it was a joy to be out. Downtown was actually an interesting place. A lot of free spirits were out today, and the majority of them were human. I met quite a few dogs in different shapes and sizes, but they were mostly on guard duty and had no time to chat with me.

I was trotting down the main drag when I caught the aroma of a familiar scent. The odor had a pungent, almost rank smell that reminded me of the wild woods and the animals that lurked in the underbrush. Whatever it was, it lingered in the doorway of a shop. Snuffling and licking the pavement to get a better gauge of the scent, I didn't notice the big fellow dressed in a loud shirt covered with all kinds of tropical fishes, denim shorts, and bright orange flip flops standing just inside, looking at me with a strange grin on his face.

"You're a nice looking dog. What are you doing here?" asked Fish Shirt. His eyes had a certain gleam that I found a bit disconcerting, and the smell was all over him. "Why don't you come inside and see if we can find out whom you belong to." He crouched down, his hulking form dominating the entrance, thrusting his face closer to mine with his large nostrils quivering like he was smelling me too. The thick eyebrows that sat above his eyes were like dark wooly caterpillars that seemed to inch up and down as he looked me over, and the hair on his head looked more like fur than human hair because it was so abundant. Long, coarse black hairs covered his arms. I could have sworn his teeth were a bit too big for his mouth when he grinned again. The books and magazines he held in his arms had pictures of people in various states of undress on their covers, and some of them had couples in positions I've seen mating dogs get into while in the throes of breeding.

I wanted to ignore him, but the scent was addicting and powerful enough to get me to enter his shop. The guy let me in, chuckling as he stood up and stepped back, replacing some books in the shelves that lined one part of the wall and returning the magazines to the top of a glass display case that doubled as the counter for the register. It was also filled with strange paraphernalia only humans would find interesting. Videotapes occupied the rest of the store's shelves, and their covers also shared the same lurid photos as the books and magazines. This was quite a different video store, a place that wouldn't cater to the same clientele that visited Max's shop. I stepped over to where Fish Shirt was sitting down at the end of the counter, tapping his fingers on the glass case and smiling down at me. Settling down on my haunches, I sniffed at the air again. It soon came as a shock to me when I finally identified the smell that had me snorting at the floors and proprietor of a shop in downtown Santa Carla. The stench was unmistakable: a werewolf owned this shop.

"Found what you were looking for, hellhound?" asked Fish Shirt innocently.

_Touché_ and I thought this was going to be a good day; I've never left a place so quickly in my life.

My flight from the werewolf's den of iniquity didn't last long as I leapt and ran along the sidewalk, avoiding pedestrians and the dog or cat that happened to be in my way. I managed to slow down enough to get my wits back. That was a close call, and I knew Max would be angry about this escapade; he was the kind who didn't fraternize with werewolves, and he made sure that I didn't too, but what he didn't know, won't hurt him. I'm just hoping Max and I never meet up with Fish Shirt in the future because I bet that dirty werewolf would remember me if he saw me again.

Imagine that, meeting with a werewolf who ran a video store just like Max. It was a small world after all. Maybe the Boys knew about the resident werewolves of Santa Carla or maybe not since they tend to keep to themselves most of the time. I had no recollection of them or Max preying on or harassing the werewolf population. Perhaps I'll keep this little bit of information; knowing who was who and what was what in and around Santa Carla would probably help during my explorations. I just hoped there wouldn't be any more surprises coming my way soon.

The Boardwalk was in full swing, and the swarm of visitors that milled around the area was overwhelming. All those bodies generated a powerful odor of sweat, bodily functions, and other assorted scents that made my head swim. Quite a few people called out to me, while others tried to lure me to them with food in order to pet me and check me out, but they shouldn't have bothered. I picked my way around the beach, avoiding the bodies that were splayed out on beach towels. The swimsuit crowd packed the beach, their bodies glistening like bikini clad sardines packed in oil and then scattered like confetti on the sandy strip that separated the ocean from the amusement park.

Walking around and enjoying the sights would have been enjoyable had it not been for a nagging feeling. My brain was screaming at me, telling me that I was being followed. Was it Fish Shirt? I pretended to sniff around a park bench where a family was having their lunch. While the children cooed over me, I cast a quick look backward to identify my pursuer. It wasn't Fish Shirt, but an animal control officer, and he was trying his best to sneak up on me. I guess the rest of my Santa Carla tour would have to be postponed for today. That werewolf purveyor of perversity must have tipped off the pound, and now their agent was after me. Well, it was time for me to leave anyways. I scampered away, weaving through the crowd, effectively losing my pursuer. The last I saw of the officer, he was red in the face and bent over, trying to catch his breath.

When I made it back to the cave, the late afternoon sun was slowly setting, its glowing descent a prelude to nightfall. I still had time for a quick drink and a nap before the Boys stirred from their sleep. After lapping at the water bowl, I snacked on a couple of mouthfuls of dried dog food, and then I hopped into bed. I wasn't looking forward to a night out with Paul, but compared to my previous night with David, perhaps this wouldn't be as bad.

I was never so wrong in my life.

**xXx**

Whooping and hollering preceded the Boys as they emerged from their sleep. I poked my head between the curtains and watched as the Boys entered the room. Paul was heading towards me with a wide grin on his face, and I did my best to keep from baring my teeth.

"Evenin' boy, are you ready to go for a walk? Uncle Paul's got a fun night planned!"

I had no idea why Paul was speaking to me in such an awfully weird voice. It annoyed me enough that I let out the tiniest whine. I hoped he wasn't going to use that tone of voice on our walk.

"Why are you speaking like that?" asked Marko. "Were you sucking on those helium balloons again?"

"Yeah, it's quite fun even when I'm just greeting Thorn with a bubbly good evening!" Paul's voice was back to normal now.

Dwayne appeared silently by my side. I quickly glanced up at him, but he was looking away. From his well-worn leather jacket, I caught the barest trace of a scent that was very familiar, but the sight of David emerging from the inky shadows distracted me. His clothing was immaculate, not tattered and soiled like it was the night before, and his hair was clean, styled into spikes once more. Puzzled, I looked around for something that would account for David's change of clothing and clean-cut appearance such as a wardrobe or a chest of extra clothing. I knew Max had a closet full of clothes for all occasions, but there was no sign of the Boys having a closet in the cave.

I must be staying with a bunch of slobs. Perhaps they stole the clothes that were left out to dry and not brought in during the night or they ransacked the secondhand clothing shops on the nights they didn't feed. As David came nearer, I noticed the cuffs of his black jeans stopped at mid-calf, showcasing his ankle boots and a swath of very pale, skinny calf. The rest of his ensemble was topped off by the shirt he wore. It had the horrendous picture of an adorable and cloyingly sweet silver kitten upon it with large, dark eyes staring plaintively from David's chest.

"Wow, you look like cute shit! Is that the style now?" Paul laughed as he sat down on the sofa. "Let me see if I can score a couple of bunny suits. I've always wanted to roam around Santa Carla dressed as a blood drinking bunny."

"Marko, the next time you steal clothes, make sure they're the right size and not decorated with kittens," said David.

"What do you mean? That shirt really suits you," Marko replied as he threw some articles of clothing at David. "Okay, try these on for size. They should go better with your _Oh! I'm so sinister and evil-looking_ vibe."

"Keep talking, keep talking, you're this close to getting that sidecar for your bike, Marko," David growled as he went back to change his clothes.

"I actually thought he looked good in that shirt!" said Paul as he stood up from the sofa. "Alright, it's party time! We'll meet you guys back at the cave. Are you ready, Thorn?"

I leapt down from the bed and walked to Paul. Surprisingly, he wasn't holding the leash. The night was starting on a positive note already. We headed up the stairs and into twilight; the moon had yet to rise. I didn't know where he was leading me. Paul ambled along, glancing up at the sky now and then while I trotted ahead slightly. I still hadn't forgiven him for the spiked collar, but letting me walk without a leash was good enough for me to forget about it for the rest of the night. We were heading down the dirt road when we heard the others fly overhead, traveling towards the distant lights of Santa Carla and their hidden bikes.

Paul picked up the pace when we arrived at the outskirts of town. Foregoing the Boardwalk altogether, he followed a path that headed east, and soon we were hiking into the hills, up the wooded slopes, in an area adjacent to a state park. I stayed close, never letting the swift vampire out of my sight. He traveled silently, heading for a dense grove of redwoods mingled with pines and where the air was filled with the scent of night-blooming flowers, ferns, and the distinct odor of growing marijuana. Now this was unexpected. I pictured Paul as the party animal of the group, easy-going and very playful. While he was alive and before he became a vampire, he probably indulged in various illegal pleasures, but I never expected him to be an active participant in the growth and maintenance of _cannabis_. Being undead may have its perks, but I doubt he could feel the effect of the weed unless there was a blood-based addictive drug I didn't know about.

As we entered a small clearing, the evening breeze picked up, carrying with it a hint of something that tickled my nostrils and the faint sounds of something traveling through dense undergrowth. In front of me, Paul stopped in his tracks, and then turned to his right and dropped into a crouch. He was staring down a crowded aisle of tall redwoods with their high canopies moving slightly in the breeze, listening to the same thing. I could hear it coming closer. It would be safer for us if we didn't meet up with whatever or whoever was coming, but I was curious to see what it was, and I noticed Paul had the same idea too. The undergrowth beneath the grove rustled with movement and a hush fell over the grove. I saw Paul quickly leap upwards, scrambling up the sheer trunk of a nearby redwood and into its high branches. That was very nice of him to leave me down here, waiting for whatever came loping into the clearing. Growling to myself, I hid behind a large rotting trunk that was covered in moss and fungus, nearly burrowing beneath it. We didn't have long to wait. A woman came running, her dark hair streaming behind her as she moved across the clearing. At first, I assumed she was a jogger, enjoying a lovely evening run through the dark woods, except for one thing: she was stark naked.

I heard Paul scramble down from the tree. Pausing at the base, he stood there with his hands on his hips, contemplating what he had just seen. There was a quizzical look on his face. He looked up when I emerged from behind the log. "Did you just see--?" he began, but the sight of a naked female tearing through the woods must have affected him a little bit. "What the fuck?" He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. "I got to find out more about her! Heck, I'll probably end up eating her too!"

I found it hard to keep up with Paul when he began his mad pursuit of the naked prey. He flew after her, hoping to catch up to her pale form glowing strangely on the shadowed paths of the forest. The fleet-footed nude knew her way through the woods very well, especially in woods that were pretty dark. I knew something was strange when I noticed how easily the woman kept ahead of us, her speed going beyond that of an ordinary human. As I followed, I sniffed at her tracks just to make sure. The rank animal smell that I inhaled brought to mind dirty old Fish Shirt, but with a feminine undertone that countered the strong animal essence. I could also see how the tracks were distorted, altering from one set to the next; the woman was transforming as she ran. These woods must be a playground for werewolves.

Now fully aware of what we were chasing, I tried to yelp a warning to Paul. Unfortunately, the moron was oblivious to my call. I saw the woman turn her head and do a double-take when she realized she was being followed. Her face still retained its human visage, but I detected the changes to her body as her scent became stronger, wafting over me with its wild musk. I could see the full moon as it finally slipped from behind the surrounding peaks, bathing the slopes with its silvery light. The changing woman would be at the peak of her transformation. I knew we had to turn back or else we would become the pursued and the werewolf, the pursuer. So far, she was ignoring us for the most part. She looked to be preoccupied about something as she stopped briefly, sniffing the air around her.

Paul landed not too far from her. Instead of keeping a safe distance, he swaggered forward, intent on catching his prey. I believed he was intending to soften her up with some smooth talk too; either Paul was fearless or numbingly stupid because he uttered the most inappropriate pick-up line ever: "Hey there Little Red Riding Hood, you wanna play pool? We could use my stick, my balls, and your hole." He didn't expect the answer to be a blood-curdling howl that erupted from the throat of the fully transformed werewolf. That quickly put a stop to Paul's sweet talk.

The moonlight highlighted the thick black pelt that covered the werewolf's sleek form, outlining her triangular ears with the cold light of the moon; her muzzle wrinkled, pulling back dark lips to reveal glistening canines. She slowly approached, her legs quivering with formidable strength and the thick fur at the nape of her neck standing on end, making her even larger. Bright yellow eyes glared at us hungrily. The sheer beauty and power emanating from her was starting to turn me on.

"Holy shit! That chick's a werewolf!" Paul finally figured everything out.

I've never seen a vampire take to the air so fast.

**xXx**

**Author's Notes: **_Filing income taxes takes up a lot of time, especially when the deadline nears hence the minor delay in posting. What doesn't help is being slightly buzzed from a birthday party and trying to find the adjusted gross income and placing it in the right box. Also, work has been a bit busier than usual, and a drawing project had me preoccupied. _

_I'm going to have to make up for some lost time! And as always, many thanks to all who have read Thorn's misadventures! _


	5. Finding Roaches in the Pot, Pt Doobie

"Hey, you can keep snarling all you want, hairball, but I ain't coming down!" Paul was sitting up on the highest branches of a pine tree, smiling down on the werewolf. He was enjoying the sight of the angry werewolf circling the base of the tree, leaping futilely up the trunk while her claws tore out pieces of bark. Unable to get a purchase on the loose layers, she slid back down, further enraging her and causing her to redouble her efforts. My sudden ardor had faded abruptly when I tried to distract her right after Paul leapt into the trees. I thought I had a chance with her, but she was too angry. I think she didn't like a plain old hound of Hell hitting on her while she was in wolf form. On second thought, I wasn't going to expose myself again to the irate lycanthrope, so I stayed hidden.

In the distance, a series of howls rose in cadence. The werewolf ceased her attacks on the tree and cocked her head to the side. I didn't understand what the howls were communicating, but I knew they distracted the werewolf. With a growl of disgust, she ran into the woods, in the opposite direction of the howling. Now that it was safe for Paul to climb back down, I emerged from my hiding place. I couldn't help noticing the big grin on Paul's face as he leaned against the tree trunk.

"That was a close call, Thorn," said Paul, "now let's go to where we were suppose to go before we met up with the big bad she-wolf!"

The guy was truly fearless, I must admit, and he walked like he knew these woods. The fresh scent of the redwoods and pines soon gave way to the odor of marijuana. We arrived at the edge of a modest patch of the stuff; the plants were lush and well tended, a sign that the farmers took very good care of their crop. On the other side, a small barn-like structure hunkered down between two large redwoods. There were no lights on in the barn, but a single outdoor light cast a wan glow over the doorway of the barn. The pool of light didn't reach beyond a couple of feet from the barn door. There was a distant murmuring, and the strange aroma of burning pot wafted from the redwood to the right of the barn.

Paul began to take a more cautious approach, pausing at certain points and checking for tripwires and such. The closer we made our way through the weed patch, the more distinct the voices became, but we still couldn't see the talkers. I made my way forward while Paul went to the right and out of the patch, disappearing into the shadows of the forest edge. Perhaps the werewolf gave Paul an appetite because I sensed he was going into stalking mode, merging with the darkness and waiting to pounce on his unwary victims. I stealthily made my way out of the weed garden, stepping out and crouching down on my belly to avoid detection. It didn't matter how careful I was in the end though. The two potheads sitting at the base of one of the large redwoods were totally oblivious, their minds already wasted.

**xXx**

"Dude, I told you to never light a roach that way! You're just wasting paper and the weed."

"Okay, okay, here, is that right, Pete?" The second smoker held up a joint. "How come it looks smaller? I was hoping for a big ass joint and all I got is this."

"Jake, you're always obsessing about the size. Why don't you think about something else other than size for a change? Like those howls we heard earlier; where do you think they were coming from?" Pete still had some of his wits about him, but he was slowly catching up to Jake in the high department. "Besides, it's all about quality, not quantity. This is some good weed!"

"Oh man, I nearly went ape shit when I heard those dogs howl," Jake said as he lit his joint. "I thought I was starting to turn into a dog from all the grass I've been smoking."

"Makes you think of all those stories you hear, huh? Missing people, missing pets, and all of the weird crap that the police and the town council people don't want you to know or hear about," said Pete. He took a deeper drag on his joint. "Sweet Mary Jane that really hits the spot!"

Jake looked up into the night sky. "Makes you wonder indeed. Dude, ever wonder what happened to Bob? All I found last week were his sandals, pipe, and lighter. It was like he disappeared from the face of the earth."

"The asshole probably wandered off after taking a big hit, and woke up in some place other than Santa Carla, barefoot and very hungry. Don't worry, he'll turn up, and then we'll have to go pick him up."

"He's never been gone this long," Jake replied, "and you know he never leaves his pipe behind. That guy would let go of his girlfriend first before letting go of his pipe."

"Tell me something I don't know-what the hell, did you hear that?" Pete tried to stand up, unsteadily grasping for the flashlight that lay beside him. "Man, I don't know if it's the weed that's making those noises or if it's Bob coming back." Getting a firm grasp on the flashlight, Pete flicked it on. The beam sliced through the darkened patch, illuminating the plants. Nothing moved in the light.

"What was it? What did you hear?" Jake giggled. "Were you trying to scare me? Sit your ass back down, there's nothing out there."

"Could be the raccoons and possums again or the coyotes. You know how they like to sniff around here," said Pete. "How's the dope?"

"You were right. This is really good shit, and it's making me see things, like that guy with big blonde hair crawling up and around those trees over there when you first turned on the flashlight."

"You saw what?" Pete started to laugh as he sat back down, leaving the flashlight on. "Quit shitting me, and let's have another hit. After that we could eat those hamburgers I got stashed in the barn. Hey, you're starting to look like a dog!"

**xXx**

I could see Paul making his way from tree to tree, steadily creeping up on the potheads. At some point he had taken off his boots, and he was using his clawed toes to help grasp and maintain his hold on the surface of the trunk. He glided at times when the spaces between the trees were too great for an easy leap. The kid knew what he was doing.

Creeping forward on my belly, I made my way close enough to smell the aroma of food in the barn. Paul was nowhere to be seen yet, but I could hear his stealthy progress up in the trees. The soft scrabbling of his claws was closer now, and when I peered up, I saw Paul on the same redwood where the two smokers sat, high above them. He was upside down, his arms holding him slightly away from the surface of the trunk. His eyes glittered in the dark, and his fangs gleamed. I knew he was smiling up there. Slowly, he started to descend the trunk like a big blonde squirrel, and when he was close enough to one of the smoking men, he struck quickly, grabbing him and instantly flying straight up into the air, the breeze of his passage the only sign he was ever there. The bewildered victim didn't have time to scream. It happened so fast that the other guy didn't realize his friend had disappeared; only the sudden breeze that flashed by him stirred him from his drug induced stupor and into a semblance of sobriety.

"Jake? Where'd you go?" The other guy looked around, his eyes bleary.

I trotted forward into the light and sat in front of him. He appeared totally out of it. He craned his head, looking for his friend who had sat right next to him only a few minutes ago. His gaze passed over me a few times before his eyes focused well enough to see me.

"Aw jeez, you really did turn into a dog! How am I going to explain this to the other guys?"

Exasperated, I barked at him once. I would have torn him apart had it not been for the return of Paul. He landed again on the same redwood, looking down at us with his blood-smeared gargoyle face and smiling. He wasn't content yet.

"Do you want another joint?" asked the remaining pothead before Paul swooped down and carried him away. I heard him feeding on his victim high in the trees; his feast punctuated at times by the wild cackling of his laughter echoing in the night air. Thankfully, there were no werewolves or other marijuana caretakers nearby. They would have investigated the noise, so we were left alone for the moment. All the excitement earlier had given me a bit of an appetite, and the aroma of hamburgers was too tempting to resist. I left Paul to finish his meal and followed my nose.

The barn door wasn't locked when I went to investigate it. Nudging it with my nose, it managed to swing in a little, letting me slip inside enough to push the door wide open. The moonlight streaming through the windows illuminated the bundles of dried marijuana piled along the sides. The whole space had the musty odor of long time use, and the farming implements were heaped against the walls of the old stalls that once held livestock. One of the stalls had been used as an impromptu eating area, enlarged to accommodate a couple of diners. There was a small table with two chairs, and on one side, a pallet of sorts was placed on the ground. The bag of food was on top of the pallet, lying on its side with its contents spilling out. It smelled wonderful, but the stench of marijuana didn't help my appetite, so I took the bag outside and tore it open. The hamburgers were very good, and for once I was beginning to think Paul was the best dog walker of the lot. Who else would allow me to eat junk food? I could have used a bit of hot raw meat to supplement some of my meals though.

"Hey Thorn, you scored some good food tonight!" The blonde vampire sauntered over, having put his boots back on after feeding. Streaks of blood covered his cheeks and pants; his hair was splattered with it, and his eyes looked glazed. "Wow, you're eating that food really slow, like it's in slow motion, and your jowls are going flap-flap-flap. Man, your hamburgers smell so good!" He squatted down next to me, looking up at the night sky while thin rivulets of blood made their way down his neck from his blonde locks. "I never knew there were so many stars. Like they're glowing like neon points, and hey, they're forming into a message!" He was sitting there, enraptured by the starry night when a frown appeared, crinkling his forehead. "Dude, that's not cool; it's in some stupid code or something, like all dots and shit. How am I suppose to read the message if they don't have a friggin' codebook to go with it? Somebody must have messed up big time. Hey wait, I wonder if I could control the arrangement, like have them form letters or some sort of bat signal or...or...or a big sign that says _David likes to sleep with a teddy bear_ or _Dwayne's real name is Horace_...or something really weird and funny like that. Oh man, I could go on and on!" Paul's frown deepened, his thoughts concentrating with inhuman effort to put the stars at his command.

I barked at him to get him to move, but he was deep in his own little world.

"Connect the dots! It must be a giant page of connect the dots! Is that it? Lemme go find a pencil so I could find the words and pictures. "

Vampires and the blood of potheads do not make a great combination. Paul was definitely smashed.

**xXx**

Being the sober one, I patiently listened to Paul's monologue. He was coming up with a few more ridiculous slogans to plaster across the sky when the howls started up again, and this time, they sounded close enough to pull him out of his little pot dream.

"I guess it's time for us to finish our walk, Thorn," Paul stood up, swaying slightly. "I think you should lead this time because I don't know if I can find my way back with all these trees in the way. Hey wait, wait, that's cool, I can hear the trees growing! Come along now, little devil-pooch, before the hairy pack arrives."

We quickly followed a path that headed west, towards the coast and home. This part of the forest was older, and the redwoods were larger, surrounded by smaller redwoods. Their branches formed a perforated screen for the moonlight to filter through and dapple the forest floor. The path looked well-traveled, and it wasn't overgrown as much with sword ferns and low lying brush. As we made our way down, we came upon a campsite that lay adjacent to the trail. There were signs that it had been recently vacated, since the occupants didn't bother to fully extinguish their campfire. I sniffed around, and beneath the evergreen aroma of the forest, there was werewolf spoor everywhere, but no sign of the campers. Everything appeared in order. It was strange, and I started to suspect the pack we heard earlier may be connected with this little enigma. I was heading for one of the tents when I saw something flickering out of the corner of my eye.

Paul was walking around in circles, looking off into the woods, when the same flickering caught his attention. "What's that glowing over there? Is there a light show or something?"

There were also noises accompanying the glow. It didn't sound threatening, nor did the atmosphere around it convey a sense of foreboding. Everything felt normal, no matter what my sense of smell was telling me, yet there was a very strong odor of werewolves emanating from that flickering glow. A thick screen of ferns, redwood saplings, and leafy shrubs blocked whatever action was going on. Curiosity got the better of us, urging us towards the light. Paul inched forward, turning to me once and putting a finger to his lips. We were at the natural barrier of trees and shrubs, their leaves and small branches fracturing the scene into a jigsaw pattern of moving bodies and dancing flames. I stuck my head through for a clearer view.

A bonfire had been set, its glow bathing the clearing with a ruddy light that flickered among the surrounding trees, making the shadows leap and caper like dark demons. Two werewolves were on the ground, beside the bonfire, their bodies entwined in an intimate embrace at times and moving nearly in time to the flickering flames. Their somewhat soft, guttural growls and snarls were the noises we heard. It looked like we were witnessing a rare mating scene. I felt like a peeping tom; now I know why some humans don't like it when their pets watch them during their intimate coital exercises. The actions of the werewolf couple started to speed up, their movements becoming frenetic as they neared their moment of release. A slight rustling to my right alerted me to the appearance of another peeping tom, namely Paul. He stared at what was before him, the expressions on his face ranging from awe to delight at watching something very naughty. Then Paul did something I should have expected. He burst out laughing.

One of the werewolves-I think it was the male-looked up suddenly, his rhythmic action ceasing altogether. This guy was one big brute. His thick fur was charcoal black, streaked with tan on his legs and chest. The other werewolf growled a query and then raised her head, turning slightly to get a better look at us. Unfortunately, she wasn't the same werewolf we met earlier that evening. Paul's laughter still echoed in the now silent clearing, and for a brief moment, we all stared at each other. I was trying to think of something when I noticed the shirt with colorful fishes lying not too far from the werewolves. Old Fish Shirt was having fun tonight, and he brought his video camera and tripod along too. The female wolf sat up, glaring at us with hatred while Fish Shirt flung his head back and howled. It was time for us to leave, so I turned and ran back to the trail with Paul following happily. He was right behind me, and at one point, I felt him grab my tail, yanking it pretty hard. The werewolf couple crashed through the woods behind us, their long strides giving them an advantage, but the trees blocked them from using their speed.

We weren't going to make it by trying to outrun the two werewolves. I was hoping Paul would take to the air soon so I could run without worrying about leading him through areas he would be too big to hide in. We also had to beat the sunrise. I would be okay in the sunlight, but not Paul. The trail we were on started to slope gently downhill, the redwood forest giving way almost abruptly to the drier chaparral of open grasslands and oak woodlands. In the open, the werewolves would be able to catch up. They were not so far behind us, baying loud enough to wake the dead of Santa Carla. With his brain still on the wacky weed, Paul laughed behind me, and then I heard him take off, flying over me. The werewolves howled in protest when they saw the vampire fly away, but they didn't slow down. I was left to my own devices once again.

Fish Shirt and his friend were still after me, but I knew I could outrun them now that I didn't have Paul to worry about. The trail fell steeply as it reached a small creek lined with more trees and dense shrubs, poison oak included, and there it followed a parallel course. As I made my way to the bank, I leapt into the creek, swimming and running at times since the water wasn't as deep as I thought. After heading downstream for a while, I climbed out and walked to an area of thick brambles and brush, hunkering down amidst berry vines. Upstream, the werewolves stopped at the edge, sniffing at my tracks. They were still eager to follow me, but the sudden chorus of howls from the redwood forests attracted their attention, and with disgruntled snarls, they both turned back, heading uphill to join the others. I breathed a small sigh of relief. Now it was time to head back. Emerging from my hiding place, I followed an old animal trail that meandered downhill and into a grove of live oaks. I could now see the lights of downtown Santa Carla twinkling in the thin marine fog that lingered between the hills as it made its way down to the sea.

My paws finally hit pavement, and as I passed the residential homes, I thought I felt somebody watching me. Looking up, I saw a figure leaning against one of the old trees that lined the streets. The silhouette looked familiar, too familiar, and when I was close enough, I recognized the lanky figure of Dwayne. He looked down at me with a smile playing about his lips.

"Had a rough night?" he asked. In the distance, the faint howls of the werewolves could be heard. Dwayne looked up, "I bet you and Paul had something to do with those hairballs, right?" He chuckled softly and began to walk. "Come on Thorn, I'll take you back to the cave."

It was a rough night indeed. A bit sore from all the running, I did my best just to keep up with the dark vampire. Throughout our return journey, I kept thinking about Dwayne. How did he know I'd be on that street? And how did he know about the werewolves?

"Oh great, you found him!" David swooped down, landing lightly beside Dwayne as we walked down the coastal road that led to the cave. "Any sign of Paul yet?"

Dwayne shook his head. He picked up his pace though, heading for a thin grove of eucalyptus trees. I could see Marko there, looking up at something.

"You guys ever see anything like this?" The short vampire pointed up into the branches. "He won't wake up!"

David lit a cigarette and peered into the trees, "I guess we'll just have to leave Paul up there when dawn comes around."

"Did you try to knock him down with something, anything?" asked Dwayne.

"No, I haven't tried that yet. Here, give me that stick," answered Marko.

Paul was upside down, nestled in the fork of the tallest eucalyptus tree. We could hear him snoring loudly. Unaware of what he was doing, he must have flown upside down most of the way, finally crashing into the branches because there was no possible way he could have flown knowingly into the tree to land in that position.

"I say we leave him," said David.

"No can do, David," smiled Marko, "I can't leave him here to bake." He flew up into the tree, prodding the sleeping vampire with the stick. "Wake up, Paul!" When that didn't work, Marko did the next best thing. He unhooked Paul's legs from the tree and shoved him over the side.

Paul's descent was like watching one of those sticky, rubbery spider-like toys tumbling down a wall. He was all arms, legs, and big blonde hair. Landing with a boneless thump at the base of the tree, he managed to wake up. Shaking off the dirt in his hair, he looked around in bewilderment. "Wow that was a great trip!"

David rolled his eyes and started to fly away. The others followed while Paul stayed behind. He grinned apologetically and flashed me the peace sign when I trotted by him. "Sorry about leaving you back there, Thorn."

Well, the night could have been much, much worse. I just hope the werewolves never find out where we lived. To show there were no hard feelings between us, I walked beside him.

"What do you think, Thorn? Do you think those hairballs will remember us if we see them again? How about the other one, the she-wolf from earlier that evening, do you think--"

I let him drone on and on. David and the other two won't be having peaceful naps today.

**xXx**

**Author's Notes:** _This chapter turned out to be Paul and Thorn's raunchy journey into adult video stores, werewolf 'mating rites', and marijuana use. I had thought about putting these two chapters under a mature rating, but after proofreading, I realized that there wasn't much in the story to justify the rating. I went for the suggestive rather than the graphic instead. _

_The adult video store from the previous chapter and the tryst between the two werewolves in the clearing in this chapter are my little homage to the werewolf film "The Howling." If you get the chance, watch it along with "An American Werewolf in London."_


	6. Hank Mondschein's Pet Hotel

**Disclaimer:** The Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros. I'm just having a bit o' fun with the characters.

**xXx**

I slept all day, but the Boys didn't. Before I dropped off, I heard an echoing shout from the back of the cave followed by a resounding crash then silence. Waiting, I snuggled against the pillows and stuffed animals, wondering what was going to come next, but sleep won me over. Before I sank into oblivion, I was wracked with a memory of the not so distant past. Looking back, I should have known that something or someone must have triggered it in the first place; it was a nagging puzzle, and my tired brain was trying to solve it.

_We had to look normal_ or as normal as one can be at night without arousing suspicion. Max was quite adamant about that little aspect of our undead life. I was a mere pup, unconcerned with Max's peculiar ideas and notions of how a vampire and a hound of Hell should appear in public. I didn't know what he thought of his Boys and their unique look, but I knew they were certainly unconcerned about the clothes they wore. I figured Max let them do whatever so they wouldn't be linked to a bespectacled video geek. Very smart on Max's part, distancing himself from the Boys, but it wasn't as perfect as I thought. Being young and inexperienced, I didn't know a lot about the other upstanding citizens of Santa Carla. It was the trip to the only veterinary office open during evening hours on certain nights that made me realize there were others in this quaint coastal hamlet who knew all about our peculiar lifestyle.

Henrietta 'Hank' Mondschein, DVM, was very astute. She was quite young, in human years, and I suppose she was pretty by human standards, but I've seen better looking female hounds of Hell. Her observational skills were extraordinary, and she knew it. It was a shame though, because I didn't like her one bit. I think it was the perfume she wore. I was barely a year old, so my sense of smell was still a work in progress, and I was still learning to identify all the different scents that assailed my young nose, but the reek of that perfume was nauseating.

After looking at my teeth and injecting me with the necessary vaccines, she struck up a little conversation with Max. I didn't understand most of what Dr. Mondschein was chattering about, but I knew it was affecting Max adversely. I could sense his shrunken heart trying to spasm in a futile effort to act like a normal heart

"Your Boys are up to no good."

"What do you mean? I told them to never interact with or harass the local supernaturals," answered Max. He was starting to get irritated.

"Do I look dumb to you? My father doesn't like it when his constituents complain about the local gangs, especially the gang of local bloodsuckers. What would happen if I complained to him?" Dr. Mondschein had her arms crossed while her shoe tapped the floor with a quick staccato beat.

Max sighed, "We wouldn't want the councilman breathing down our necks, do we now, Thorn?" He patted my head. "Alright, what did they do this time?"

"Your Boys have been hanging around my office lately, and my patients, especially the ones whose owners can only come in during the nights I'm open, are starting to complain. I understand we're located in a rough part of town, but I have a commitment to my patients for a hassle-free environment."

"That's funny. I don't see them when I bring in Thorn."

"That's because they know when you're coming!"

"Alright, I understand, I understand. I know what it's like to lose business when you have unsavory types hanging around your business. I had the same problem with this annoying mime," said Max. "I guess I need to talk to my boys about staying away. Let's chalk this up to youthful exuberance shall we?"

"Youthful exuberance, I think not! Your Boys are far from the youths they use to be. The Punk's probably old enough to have learned his lady-killer tricks from Jack the Ripper himself."

"I'm sure David would like to hear that."

"Oh, I bet he would," snapped Dr. Mondschein, "and Shorty seems to follow him around like a starry-eyed pup. I assume he's the shopper these days since I've seen him haggling over food at the local restaurants and what-not." Crouching over me, she started examining my ears, looking at their interiors and making sure they were clean. Once she was done, she straightened up. "I'm not so sure about the Rocker though. He seems like the troublemaker of the group, and I'm afraid I've had to lock up certain things in my safe, mainly surgical instruments and drugs. It's better to be safe than sorry."

I was beginning to admire Dr. Mondschein's penchant for giving the Boys appropriate nicknames.

"You could say that again," said Max under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"I said that you could see they've been keeping up their appearance; prey is so much easier to subdue once they've been lulled to take the bait."

"Oh, yes, it's always best for us to hide what we truly are," Dr. Mondschein agreed. She paused for a bit, absentmindedly playing with a lock of her dark brown hair. "Pretty Boy seems like the quiet one of the group. You should have him take Thorn in one of these days since he seems to be the most pleasant one of the bunch."

Did she just say _Pretty Boy_?

"I'd rather stick slivers of garlic beneath my eyelids and gurgle holy water before I let any of my Boys take Thorn to the veterinarian," replied Max as he took out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

"Let me check. I assume you'll be paying in cash," Dr. Mondschein calculated the amount and returned with a receipt. "Here, now you're ready to go."

"I see you're planning to build a kennel next door," observed Max as he pocketed his receipt.

"Yes, it's in the planning stages though, but I'm hoping Thorn would be one of its future customers."

"I'm sure he will."

I certainly did stay at Hank Mondschein's Pet Hotel, and it was the first and last time I stayed in any sort of thing. Now this is the part of the memory I'm quite fond of; I remember Max telling me how Dr. Mondschein shook her head at the chaos that ensued during my stay and the restraining order from an irate Chihuahua owner. She subsequently banned me from staying at the kennel.

Although I still see her and smell her awful perfume once a year for check-ups, she does have a way of appearing when I least expect it: I never knew the good Doctor was fond of taking moonlight jogs in the nude. As a werewolf, she's quite attractive, but still not as hot as some female hounds of Hell I've known. At least she wasn't wearing that nauseating perfume. With that piece of the memory puzzle solved, I finally fell into true sleep.

**xXx**

At nightfall, my waking eyes were greeted by the sight of the Boys slowly making their way from the rear of the cave. They didn't look well rested, except for Paul, the eternal Rocker, who looked like he had a wonderful slumber.

"I told you we should have left him in the tree, but no, you just couldn't leave him to cook," said David as he pushed at the spikes of his hair, arranging them to stand as straight as possible.

"Hey, you were the only one who was bothered by Paul's bedtime story," Marko replied. "You didn't have to stay and listen to it. Heck, there's the rest of this big, spacious, and roomy cave for you to sleep in peacefully." He sat down on the worn couch with a sigh of contentment.

"What story? I don't remember any bedtime story."

"You were talking in your sleep, Paul," stated Dwayne as he leaned against a stone pillar.

"Oh."

David went to the cupboard and rummaged around before coming up with the decorated bottle that contained the blood. I often wondered how they kept the blood from clotting or turning bad without refrigeration. I also saw him take out a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and hand it to Marko before sitting down in his wheelchair throne, clutching the bottle of blood as if it was a precious vintage of red wine.

"What was I saying?"

"So Paul wants to know what he was saying. Marko, what was he saying?" asked David from his wheelchair, a little sneer curling his lips.

"I don't know; I had my ears plugged the whole time."

David rolled his eyes. "Work with me here! All I'm asking is what Paul said while he was asleep--oh never mind!" He lifted the bottle, checking to see how much blood was left. "Oh good, the jug's still full."

"Did I talk about hairballs, weed gardens, and naked joggers? 'Cause seriously, that's all I remember man. Except for something with connect-the-dots; do any of you guys know what it all means?"

Standing up, David looked like he was going to shove the bottle down Paul's throat, "Why don't you ask Thorn? He was with you all night."

Paul looked in my direction, a wry smile on his face, "From what I remember, Thorn and I were busy chasing after the naked jogger. Boy, was she hot or what? Eye candy when you least expect it. We could have hit it right off, but she caught me off guard. I just couldn't overlook the werewolf part!"

I noticed Dwayne cast a sharp glance in Paul's direction. His normally expressionless face was trying hard to hold back an emotion. I couldn't tell what it was, but I knew he wasn't pleased about something. However, the displeasure on his face disappeared when Marko came up to him with the piece of paper and spoke to him quietly about something. The raven-haired vampire nodded his head once and took the paper.

"Could we stop talking about the werewolf?" David sighed as he placed the bottle on the table. "I thought your moaning and groaning about stupid connect-the-dots was bad enough, but to hear you carrying on about that hairy chick is enough for me to go sunbathe."

"Now that's something I'd like to see," whispered Marko.

"Marko, isn't it time for you to walk Thorn?" David narrowed his eyes, glaring at the short vampire.

"Yeah, it's my turn, but I'll walk him only if Paul comes along," demanded Marko.

"Sweet, I don't mind another walk with devil-pooch." Paul was grinning, his slightly bloodstained teeth glistening in the semi-darkness of the cave.

"Well, as long as I'm not walking with that fleabag, you guys can do whatever you want, but stay out of trouble for Max's sake."

"I think David likes you, Thorn," observed Paul.

Grinning a generic dog's grin, I let the observation slide.

"You guy's ready to go? The night's way too young to not get hammered, and there's this place I want to check out. It just opened up, and I heard it's a cool hang out. I think we can get ourselves in on the goods." Marko was excited; he walked quickly towards me, but when I saw the leash he held in his hands, I knew this walk wouldn't bode well for me. Before he came near enough to snap the leash onto my ridiculous spiked collar, Dwayne intercepted him and handed back the mysterious note, but not before giving me a sly glance. "Hey Paul, put this leash on Thorn; I have to check the shopping list."

Ah, now the mystery was solved, and here I was, wondering if it was a blackmail letter. I didn't like that look Dwayne gave me though.

"Thorn doesn't need a leash; he's a good dog, and he won't give you any trouble unless you ask for it." Paul nodded in David's direction as they made their way out of the cave. "So where're we going?"

Marko bit back a little laugh as he put the leash away. "Well, we got errands to run first. Damn it, I can hardly read what David wrote on here!" Marko squinted at the list as he emerged from the cave. "Shit! Chickens write better than this!" He held the paper above the spray as the waves rushed against the boulder strewn beach and the wooden walkway.

Paul put on a silly grin and said, "Did you ever wonder about those gloves David wears? Why do you think he has them on? He's gripping the bars with his_ feet_ and not with his hands while he sleeps."

"I've never wondered about it."

"When you get down to it, the dude's all thumbs; he'll never write neatly enough to save himself during an essay contest."

Both vampires didn't look up when David and Dwayne flew past, their dark forms dwindling as they used the occasional updraft to soar overhead.

**xXx**

The moon rose over us, its fat face shining against the blackness as it slowly traveled across the sky, subduing the twinkling lights of the surrounding stars. The heavy bass thumps of the waves crashing against the cliffs receded until there was only silence on the dirt path that led from the cliff stairs. A small breeze swept in and whipped up the dust from the path and stirred the pale tall grass into a small dance that shook their dried stalks. I loped quietly behind the vampires, listening to their conversation and the distant calls of other night creatures.

"Care to tell us what you're mumbling about?" asked Paul as he walked ahead of us.

"I'm double-checking the shopping list for tonight." Marko glanced down at the paper he held in his gloved hand. "Look here, Dwayne wants cantaloupes." There was a snicker from Paul at the mention of cantaloupes. "Holy shit, he also wants a dog muzzle, preferably a large one!" Marko laughed as he tucked the list back into his pants pocket.

At the mention of the muzzle, Paul paused not too far from where the dirt path met with the paved road that led to Santa Carla. "Um, what does he want the muzzle for?"

"Well, you never know what goes on in Dwayne's brain. He could be scheming about a lot of things, and we'd never know about it." Marko caught up with Paul, and as he did, he looked at me. "There's a chance he's going to use it on Thorn."

"I'm telling you man, Thorn's a cool Hound of Hell. I'm going to have to talk to Dwayne about this muzzle thing."

I was beginning to admire Paul for sticking up for me. As for Dwayne, I thought about leaving a little present in his sneakers while he slept. The kid knew how to push my buttons alright. The little crack about neutering I can overlook, but a muzzle?

"Wait a minute, what's he going to use the cantaloupes for?"

"I don't have the faintest idea."

"You know, I could use a few of those cantaloupes."

"What are you going to use them for? Dive-bomb your victims into unconsciousness then drink their blood?" There was a curious gleam in Marko's eyes.

I could see he didn't have to understand Dwayne's eccentricities, but knowing Paul, there was a chance those cantaloupes would be put to use in some wacky scheme contrived by the tall blonde vampire.

"That's none of your business."

"Are you making a fruit salad?"

Paul abruptly turned and headed down the road. "Where's that place you were talking about?"

"You're not answering my question, and seriously, I thought you'd be more interested in the muzzle," teased Marko.

"What do you take me for, man?" Paul turned, clearly exasperated, "You think I'm some sort of freak with a kinky streak?"

"Yeah," answered the short vampire.

"Holy shit, you know me so well!"

**xXx**

**Notes and Stuff: **_I must apologize for the lengthy hiatus, but real life has a way of throwing a wrench in one's creative plans. Now that summer and fall have passed like dead brown leaves before a noisy leaf blower, I believe this winter will be a bit more productive. As long as I don't get distracted by squids, octopus, Evil Kate, baking, and cats with cheeseburgers, I'll be able to continue this sordid tale. _


	7. Shoplifters Will Be Killed and Eaten

**Disclaimer:** The Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros., Morticia Addams belongs to MGM, and Lily Munster belongs to Universal Studios. I'm just having a bit o' fun with the characters.

**xXx**

"Now where's this place you've been gushing about?"

The smile that lit up Marko's face would have been appropriate on a plump cherub, but it looked absolutely predatory on him. "Man, have patience--we'll get there soon enough."

"Come on pal, curious minds want to know: Where the Hell is this place you're talking about?" Paul walked backwards, jauntily stepping to the private tune that always played in his head.

Marko smiled again. "Like I said before, we have errands to run first."

"You're killing me!"

"Hey, you agreed to come along."

"I didn't agree to be an errand boy."

"Backing out now?" Marko was still smiling.

"I never back out of anything, pal."

"That's what you say, but I still remember that thing in L.A. You sure have a way of making an entrance, but your exit from that El Lay fiasco left a lot to be desired."

"You know the only thing I regret from that fiasco was the lack of style on my part."

"What style? You don't earn style points for falling on your ass."

"Ha ha Marko."

There are some things better left unsaid, but Marko wasn't done with the L.A. fiasco yet. The memory of that event still gives Max an involuntary shudder whenever he sees Paul; I know because I've lived long enough with the snazzy dresser to not miss every subtle nuance of his body language.

"Ha ha yourself, Goldilocks--you don't just _crash_ a dinner party hosted by the biggest, meanest, and ruthless vampire in all of El Lay and his threesome of brides."

"It figures that the hottest looking babes should belong to that old geezer. I thought it was a feeding frenzy I could help myself to at first; I didn't know they wanted it all for themselves."

"You're such an opportunist, Paul. Nobody messes with Big D's chicks and their supper."

"Better an opportunist than an errand boy!"

Marko ignored that last barb as he slowed and finally stopped. "Hey, we're here - first stop o' the night"

The short vampire stood in front of a brightly lit storefront. The shop looked like those typical convenience stores usually manned by a pair of warm bodies willing enough to serve customers during the peculiar hours between midnight and dawn. In downtown Santa Carla, such stores would be catering to human tastes, but on the remote outskirts of town, inhuman tastes would be the norm.

I didn't realize how far we had walked. The wild odor of coastal scrub had given way to the cooling sidewalks and asphalt smell of Santa Carla at night. The old cement and burnt tar mingled with the blowing onshore breeze and light ocean mist saturated with the briny tang of the deep Pacific. It was a scent that reminded me of blood, glistening bones beneath a leprous moon, and weed. I looked up to see Paul saunter over to the entrance, his body odor wafting towards me; it wasn't really the stench of Death, but he did look like Death if Death was into hair bands and was willing to give up his funereal robe and cowl to wear the latest fashion disaster.

"Do they allow animals inside?" Paul glanced in my direction.

"Well, if they're going to allow _you_ inside, I guess Thorn would be okay," answered Marko as he took out his shopping list.

As Paul read the sign on the front door, he started cackling, amused by whatever was written on it. "Oh man, these guys can't be serious!"

"What, they don't allow animals inside?" asked Marko.

"No, look."

"_Shoplifters will be killed and eaten._ Wow, the store must have a new owner; that sign wasn't there the last time I was here." Marko flashed a sly grin in Paul's direction. "Let's go inside and see what's up."

The bell hanging on the door handle announcing the presence of customers would have perked my ears up, but it was curiously silent. I sniffed at the bell and smelled the stale saliva and the long gone sweetness of gum crammed inside. Within the store, I detected the musty odor of long-settled dust, mildew, and ineffective cleaning agents used on the floors, yet there was a slight aroma of rot, and not just wood rot, but the cloying and tantalizing odor of rotting meat.

The lone cashier slowly looked up from the magazine he was reading as I followed the boys inside. He raised his eyebrows in greeting when Marko gave a little wave in his direction, but a small frown creased his pale forehead when Paul appeared.

"Hey, I know you. You're the asshole that-"

"Forget about the tall blonde, he's finally housebroken. So how are you, Beardsley? Got any news to pass on? And what's with the sign?"

"No new news for you guys, but I now have a new coworker and the sign's for--"

_Murrggggh_ The muffled moan came from the rear of the convenience store.

"Whoa, what was that?" Paul was more than ready to investigate.

"Oh, that's the new coworker. Remember the guy he replaced - you know the stoner dude that worked with me on graveyard shifts? He disappeared a week ago. I say good riddance; asshole never shared his stash with me."

Paul flashed a knowing smile at this information, and a surreptitious glance from Marko said it all: Beardsley would never know of their involvement with the former employee's disappearance.

"The boss finally replaced him with Frankie over there." The clerk nodded in the direction of the frozen food section. "I've been keeping that living dead freak in the freezer with the extra ice when it's not busy."

When did it ever get busy? We must have missed the mad rush. I looked over at Paul, but all I saw were his coattails as he disappeared down an aisle. There was no doubt he was heading for the frozen zombie section when I heard his voice.

"Oh cool, do you mind if I check out the deadsicle?"

"Help yourself, but don't unlock the freezer door."

"And don't taunt the undead!" added Marko as he reached for a large bag of potato chips and those strangely addicting bright orange cheese things I sometimes can't help munching on whenever I find them. Turning to the clerk, he asked, "Why do you have a flesh-eating zombie for a coworker?"

"It's a long story, but here's the short and disgusting version: the boss is new, fresh from the East Coast – they keep saying that he's a retired virologist or biochemist – I keep forgetting which; I also heard that he worked on a government project at some big lab that went bankrupt. So last week I came to work, and there's the old boss showing him around the place. I heard from the jerks on day shift that the doctor won this joint from the boss during a game of poker."

"Listen, do you think it's strange that the new boss hired a zombie when there are perfectly qualified and living workers around?"

"Hey, I just work here, and I don't care about who I work with as long as it isn't a ventriloquist's dummy!"

"Sorry I asked," replied Marko as he raised his gloved hands in mock surrender, "but the way I see it, you'll have more trouble with Mr. Dead over there than with shoplifters."

"Yeah, yeah, I know! He's not much help with customer service, but he keeps the unsavory types from holding up the joint which is the reason for the sign. One look at the sign and they usually keep walking," explained Beardsley. "Unfortunately, it's like swimming with a great white shark when I let him roam the aisles. That's when I have to make sure where he is all the time. I also warn the rare customers that pop in now and then about Frankie so they don't get eaten."

"I bet old Frankie likes his customers really rare, like kicking and screaming rare," added Paul who had just arrived to catch the tail end of the clerk's explanation. There was a silly grin on his face that stretched wider when he noticed me looking up, but something distracted him. He stopped at a nearby aisle, briefly vanishing as he bent down to retrieve something from the lower shelf. "Hey, I found an extra-large doggie muzzle. It even comes in tough black leather! Check it out." Paul waved the muzzle in front of us before tossing it to Marko.

"I didn't know we sell that kind of stuff," remarked Beardsley.

"You didn't know you sold pet supplies?"

"No, I'm talking about that kinky bondage stuff. Remind me to check the inventory, dude, because I have no idea what type of junk the new boss orders for the store. Hey, could you tell your tall friend to stop messing around back there."

"You know you don't have to put up with this crap from your boss." Ignoring Paul's antics, Marko leaned on the counter, and earnestly searched the pallid, hollow-eyed face of Beardsley. "It's all going to end in one big cluster fuck."

"I hear you, but I kinda like this gig, and I can hold my own against Frankie." At this, Beardsley smiled, showing off his yellowing teeth. "He keeps me on my toes, and I have this morbid game where I lock the door and let him chase me around the store. But if he gets too close for comfort that's when the cattle prod and this comes in handy." The clerk reached under the counter and brought out a magnificent machete. He wielded it like a seasoned handler, his grip sure and powerful.

"Aw, isn't that sweet? He really likes to work with the living dead. This guy's a total nut job!" muttered Paul.

I had to agree with him on that observation. Beardsley's occupation would be as close as one can get to being a member of the shambling undead, but without the downside of decomposition and the ravenous urge to devour the brains and flesh of the living. Yet it did have the negative aspect of turning one into a borderline homicidal maniac.

"Well, if you put it that way, there's no point in complaining to the boss, but if you get bitten and try to eat us, I'll fucking kill you!" At Paul's offhand remark, Marko grinned savagely, his eyes bright and dangerous beneath the wan fluorescent lights.

Beardsley's answering laugh sounded forced. Returning his machete to the shelf beneath the counter, he turned to the wall display of cigarettes behind him. "So along with the muzzle, I bet you guys need a couple of packs."

"Yeah, the usual brands and toss in a few cases of beer; can't have fun without beer, especially when we have unexpected guests over."

"Hey, could you throw in a couple of skin mags too?"

"Paul, you can't add to the list! I only have enough for what's on the list."

"Screw the list!"

Now that's like Paul to derail a normal night's shopping with his little inappropriate side trips. I guess last night's revelry of pot and unexpected werewolf porn wasn't enough.

"Sorry man, I'm the only one with store credit, and I'm not using it to pay for your sexual appetites."

"Aw, come on! How about getting just one for those long days when I can't sleep?"

"There's no way in Hell, Paul."

"Well, Thorn old buddy, at least I tried."

Besides being a good walker, Paul was now under the strange delusion that I was a silent accomplice to his relentless search for pornographic paraphernalia.

"Hey, I have an idea for next time - write it on the list!" Marko then turned away and handed Beardsley the cash.

"Write it on the list? When do I have the time or the chance to write anything down? You got David and Dwayne hogging the damn list whenever you pass it around," complained Paul as he walked out. I could still hear him out front as he paced back and forth.

With a rueful smile, Marko shook his head and said, "Do you see what I have to put up with every night?"

Beardsley nodded, "I hear you, man. I hear you."

"Well, so long pal!" Leaning closer, Marko added, "Hold on to the stuff; we'll come for it later. We still have one last stop."

"Okay, just knock on the window to let me know."

I followed Marko out the store. Paul had stopped his colorful complaints by the time we joined him.

The street we were on wasn't really empty; vagrants loitered along closed storefronts and abandoned lots; a few were rummaging in the trash. From the scent they were giving off, I knew they were ghouls. They ignored us as we strolled by.

"Some ghouls can't seem to find a good night shift these days," observed Marko.

"Yeah, I see the same crew in the dumpsters a lot," added Paul. "I wonder what they find in them. We all know they're more likely to chew off their own arms before scraping the dumpsters for a bite to eat, and they're looking for human flesh in the wrong place anyways."

"Beats me, but there's other stuff they're finding in the dumpsters they can probably use or sell."

"Like for a ghoul garage sale?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't be caught alive at such a sale." Marko replied, "But I know who'd be checking them out."

"Man, if only the sales were held at night, I'd believe you, because I don't think Max would be prowling around during the day _and_ looking at second-hand clothes. Have you seen the stuff he wears?"

"No, I usually don't visit Max every night to stare at his clothing. Why, do you?"

"No, but Thorn can tell you a lot more about it. Look, forget about the ghouls and their dumpster diving, where are we going next?"

"You brought up the ghouls' habits in the first place." Marko looked up at the night sky, his long, curling locks swaying gently against his back. "We'll be there soon."

"It better not take too long. I didn't come along just to go shopping," said Paul as he kicked at the cigarette butts that littered the sidewalk. He turned to Marko. "You know what? That hairy chick from the other night got me thinking about a lot of things. She's probably got a hairy boyfriend ready to get it on with her and tickle her row of nipples; and if he's willing to put up with her, there's a chance they'll have a werewolf wedding and a litter of little hairballs along the way. Do you think we'll ever get a lucky break like that?"

"I wouldn't consider that a lucky break, and if you're thinking of getting it on with a werewolf, don't. I think the chick's dad and Max would have a fit," replied Marko.

"So vampires really don't have a chance at married life, huh?"

"Paul, I really don't get your drift. What's this all about?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm just wondering. That's all."

"I should've given you your porn then I wouldn't be listening to you talking about crap while Thorn over there is sniffing the real thing."

If that was meant to distract Paul from his domestic musings, it didn't work. I had wandered off to sniff at something interesting, but it wasn't crap. On hearing my name, I trotted back.

"It's not about the skin mags. It's about this one question I've been burning to ask, and I don't know if I'll ever find an answer."

"Did you ask Max or the guys?"

"No, Max would get angry, David would tell me to shut up, and Dwayne would just stare at me."

"Okay pal, what is it? I'll try to give you a straight answer," said Marko. He already had a resigned look on his face.

"No, no, you'll probably laugh at me."

"Me, laugh? Come on, I'm serious. At least I'm giving you a chance."

"Well, you asked for it. Who's hotter: Lily Munster or Morticia Addams?"

Marko stared at Paul for what seemed like an eternity before answering. "What the fuck is that? I thought you had a serious question or problem of some kind."

Always expect the unexpected from Paul, and that question alone was an example of what emerged from his strange, convoluted thoughts. I always knew that whatever lurked (or danced) in Paul's whacked out brain would emerge to stupefy innocent bystanders. On the other hand, I was curious to know Marko's answer.

"You need to broaden your horizons, man. These babes are the epitome of hotness. And you didn't answer my question."

"You do know they're fictional characters, right? And what makes you think that I'd spend a nanosecond of my undead existence thinking about Morticia or Lily?" said Marko as he marched on ahead.

"Come on, I betcha Morticia's kinky, kinkier than Lily by far."

"Okay, okay, what if I say they're both hot? Would that make you shut up?"

"No way, pal. I'm not letting you off easy with a pussy answer like that. It's one or the other."

"Paul…"

"Who's hotter: Lily or Morticia?"

"If you really must know: Morticia." Marko emphasized his answer with a low wolf whistle. "No buts about it - she's hot. I'd go out with her just so I can have a wild night."

"I knew you'd pick her."

"Why did you even bother to ask such a stupid question?"

Paul shrugged and said, "I just get a kick out of asking you stupid questions."

"Now I know how Max feels."

"Wait, are you saying Max likes Morticia?"

"No, that's not what I meant!"

Paul's sudden laughter at his exasperation caused a few ghouls to turn our way, but they quickly returned to their own activities after muttering some nasty comments about the state of Santa Carla's night life. "Hey, I'm just pulling your leg. Besides, they'll never leave their husbands."

"True, all too true. Well, I sure hope you're happy, because we're at our last stop."

**xXx**

**Author's Notes:**_ Well, this chapter took far longer than I thought it would, and I apologize for the glacial output of updates for this story, but real life has taken up a lot of my free time. And on a sad side note, AJ, the dog that inspired this story died in February of this year. She was 12 years old. I still miss her. _

_Strange dreams have been plaguing the writing of this chapter also. The most recent involved the discovery and autopsy of a stranded sperm whale (__Physeter macrocephalus__) on a golf course. While examining the contents of its stomach, my dream self and assistant found a weird variety of food items in their own plastic bags (the majority of which would never be part of any sensible whale species diet, such as pasta and various unidentifiable edibles clearly manufactured for human consumption.) Strangest of all were the masses of squid-like creatures that surrounded the bags. _

_Many, many thanks for all who have read this sordid tale. _


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